


I Ache For You

by fereldenpeach



Series: One-Shot Sexcerpts [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blow Jobs, Confident Cullen, Cullenlingus, Established Relationship, Explicit Baking Content, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Huehuehuhe, Porn With A Leeeeetle Plot, Post-Corypheus, Pre-Trespasser, Smut, Tumblr Giveaway Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-19 23:32:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13134480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldenpeach/pseuds/fereldenpeach
Summary: Artemis thinks she's surprising Cullen with some sweet baked treats for his birthday...He'd rather havehersweet treat instead...A Tumblr giveaway one-shot for@kawereen!





	I Ache For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kawereen](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kawereen).



> The spunky and saucy Artemis belongs to the positively adorable [@kawereen](http://kawereen.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!
> 
> I hope you enjoy some confident!Cullen being a bit dom with Artemis, my beeb!
> 
> Enjoy. <3

“That's not enough flour,” said Bernice, her disapproving frown appearing over Artemis’ shoulder. 

The squat older woman narrowed her beady eyes, glaring from the moist heap of dough slowly spreading across the butcher-block counter to the thick and luscious curls surrounding her Inquisitor’s face. 

“And strands of your hair will be baked into the buns if _you're_ not careful.”

Artemis immediately cut her eyes at Bernice, inspecting the tight and greasy bun atop her graying head and the dusting of semolina that had caked into the deep lines sprawling across her scaly, wrinkled skin. Had Skyhold’s head cook _not_ been the most qualified in all of Thedas to consistently and successfully provide meal upon meal upon meal for scores of soldiers and refugees—including the occasional nosy noble—Artemis would have thrown out the snarky, ornery, and judgmental Bernice as soon as she had been made Inquisitor. Bernice’s cooking expertise for the large, bulk dishes was _indeed_ desired, but her unsolicited advice and instruction had always been very much unwanted—and every time Artemis had ventured anywhere _near_ the kitchens, Bernice’s nagging tut followed _every_ step of _every_ recipe—from the very start of preparation to the very end of clean-up. And Artemis had _had_ it.

Making eye contact with her sweaty and quite unbathed cook, she shoved her anchor-wracked hand into the nearest bag of flour—fingers gliding through like butter to fist a great, yet sloppy handful—and she promptly, forcefully, _defiantly_ plopped down a great puff of flour atop the little sprawling ball of dough. 

The stuffy white cloud instantly sent Bernice into a hacking fit of garbled choking gasps—to which she knew better than to cough near the cookware and consumables, never mind her _Inquisitor_ —so she relieved herself of the kitchen for a spot of fresh air on the grounds.

Artemis snickered triumphantly and drug the clean length of sleeve across her face, resuming to knead and maneuver the dough in front of her until the tacky substance was workable yet still fluffy enough to divide into twelve, round little buns. 

Dusting her hands once again with a light coating of flour, she spun each section gingerly—rolling them into little balls to line a heavily buttered tin with every single perky little bun as soon as she had formed them to her liking. 

Satisfied, she let the buns rest for a moment and turned her attention to the pot of slowly melting exotic chocolate she had secretly ordered from Val Royeaux. Adding a few drops from a vial to the chocolate—and then noticing how quickly her chocolate had begun to melt—she stirred it frantically, haphazardly—hoping to keep it from scorching along the bottom and ruining the most delectable part of the surprise for Cullen’s birthday. 

With a grunt, Artemis hauled the pot from the flame and placed it atop a metal plate to cool and swiped at her brow with relief, immediately turning to the cute little buns and placing them atop a dividing partition within the stone oven. 

The fragrance of the melting oils and butter, the swirling steam lifting from the dough, the near-bubbling heat drifting from the melted chocolate—it overflowed from the kitchens and out toward the hallway—creeping across the grounds, beckoning rumbling bellies, drawing hungry eyes to peep into the windows and spy between half-closed doors.

And it was this fragrance that lured Cullen towards the kitchens—a fragrance tantalizing his senses and prompting memories and emotions and a _hunger_ beyond that of the desire for food. For on that drifting scent was that of his lover—jasmine and rose with a _hint_ of honey—an aroma stirring more than comfort and familiarity throughout the entirety of his being.

Cullen stalked silently through the doorway, his sight lingering on the rounding of Artemis’ hips in the bent-over position from inspecting the oven—eyeing her firm yet juicy backside. He cleared his throat, a smirk working its way across his lips as she started and righted her stance. 

Artemis gasped. “Noooo! You’re not supposed to be in here—you’ll spoil the surprise!”

Cullen eased toward her, his darkened gaze mischievous yet tinged with a want and hunger of which—while appreciative of her baking efforts—cared a bit more for sating a _different_ sort of appetite altogether. His advance only stopped once he stood mere inches away from her, and he could tell she was just as interested by the sudden hardened peaks beneath her tight and silky tunic, the quick dilation of her playfully darting eyes, the hitch of her warm and sugary breath, the rosy hue peaking just beneath the surface of her smooth and creamy cheeks—one of which bore the telltale signs of a hasty, novice baker.

A small smudge of chocolate had landed on the apple of her left cheek, leaving Cullen no other choice than to gently smooth his hand along her face, cleaning the chocolate with the flat of his thumb and placing it between his wanting lips tasting…

Raspberry. 

Liqueur. 

All within that luxurious chocolate from the tiny little shop he and his lover had found in Val Royeaux.

His new favorite.

Cullen grinned and cupped Artemis’ face, bringing the taste of the sweet to dance upon her tongue in exchange for her own unique flavor—one of _two_ that had twined throughout his conscious and pulled into his desires—not unlike the way lyrium had once sung to the very fibre of his being. His tongue flicked over and beneath and pressed against her own, gliding and retreating in favor of nipping with teeth. He _craved_ her. And he could wait no longer.

Cullen pulled until Artemis was flush against his body, and she _purred_ in response, making the playful little chittering noises he had always found so endearing. Yet he broke their kiss in search of those piercing blue eyes.

“How long do they have to bake, Arry?” he asked, twirling a lock of her hair around the curl of his index finger.

Artemis nibbled at her lower lip—a wicked glint sparkling in her eyes—and she squirmed from his grasp to turn back around to “inspect” the buns. Her hips pressed into the growing bulge in his trousers. 

“Mmm,” came a satisfied hum from Cullen as his hands wandered, running down the length of her spine to knead at her shoulders. Gliding them back to squeeze at the firm and ample meat of her ass wiggling along the hardening line of his cock.

“About thirty minutes,” answered Artemis. She stood once more and spun in his embrace, easing one hand around her Commander’s neck while the other softly pressed to the broad span of his chest. “They'll be warm and buttery and golden and sweet…”

Featherlight and steaming with heat, her lips grazed along his jaw until landing at the shell of his ear. “Like you.”

The sound leaving Cullen’s throat likened to that of a growl—an audible manifestation of a want so high that it had him bereft of any sort of modesty—leaving only the wanton, animalistic _need_ in the man who suddenly cared _not_ for the voyeurs still peering into the kitchen above the widow sills and between the cracks along the door.

Cullen dipped before his lover, bending so he could scoop her up and hoist her atop his shoulder—to which a surprised and excited yelp slipped between Artemis’ lips. He hauled her through the fortress and toward their private quarters—passing only a few stoic and intentionally oblivious soldiers standing guard at their usual posts. 

Artemis’ laughter reverberated all throughout the pitched ceilings, matching Cullen’s booming chuckle, and he promptly closed the door to toss his beautiful paramour onto their large and comfy bed.

Bouncing with the last few chimes of laughter, Artemis emerged from her swath of swirling dark hair and sat upon her knees—her hands reaching out to clasp and cling in an effort to help rend her stripping templar completely and deliciously naked. 

Cullen stepped from the pile of clothes and crawled upon the bed—tackling Artemis along with him—nipping and biting at her neck, her shoulders, her throat.

“Thirty minutes, you said?” A broad hand smoothed underneath her linen shirt, pausing momentarily to squeeze a handful of her chest before lifting her tunic and breast band over her head and tossing them to the floor.

Artemis grunted, struggling to remove her shoes with her heels of her boots.

“ _About thirty_ —but now it’s more like…twenty eight?”

Cullen nuzzled beneath her jaw, inhaling her intoxicating scent until he was properly drunk with love and lust and desire and _need_ to worship, cherish, and ravage his sweet little Arry until she was dizzy and love-drunk just the same. His kisses grew more urgent and he growled once more—fingers gripping and caressing along her slender yet muscled limbs—

“I’ll have you coming in _two_.”

Cullen sat back on the heels of his feet—his long, thick, and hardened cock bobbing with a tiny spot of slick glimmering at his head. And Artemis gathered herself up onto her elbows with a lick her lips, wiggling her lower spine as soon as Cullen’s fingers found the band of her leggings—allowing him to pull down her smalls with the rest of her clothing.

“We shall see, my naughty Commander,” she said, poking at his hardened abdomen with her big toe. 

Cullen’s calloused and war-roughened hands gripped at the meat of her hips, lifting until the glinting crux between her thighs was poised for his touch—leaving her shoulders the only portion of her back still resting against the bed—her toes barely grazing the bunching blankets. 

And Cullen _devoured_ her. His face pressed against either side of her smooth and luscious thighs—the grazing stubble almost tickling her had it not been for the distracting length of tongue dragging and prodding along love-slick ridges and folds and nerve-endings all alight with an electric, climbing pleasure. 

Her taste was sweet, bright—a flavor he often ached for in even his most mundane dreams now that his once fitful sleep had transformed into a peaceful longing for more _with_ her and _of_ her. 

And it was her taste he wanted, her moaning gasps he desired—to hear the heart-rushing sound of his name tumbling from those full and blushing lips of which he still sometimes struggled to believe they actually _wanted_ to shout his name. 

Cullen moaned against her tender flesh at the thought and slid his tongue throughout her slick, gliding upward until it held pointed and swirling around the little bundle of nerves—intentionally distracting her from the motions of his hands. His left continued to balance her hips, his right, however—his right meandered into other, more lascivious deviations. Without hesitation, two fingers plunged right in, right up, pressing along the spot inside that sent the toes just barely touching the comforter to curl and stiffen beyond control. 

“Ooh! Cullen—Cull—ahhhh!” Artemis scrambled to grip at the blankets, her toes spreading for leverage against the bed so she could properly grind herself against his face.

But Cullen surrounded her clit with the heat of his opened mouth, shaking his head back and forth—tongue gliding as quickly as possible over her hardened little nub while his fingers scissored and fluttered and pumped within her—continually brushing the spot within that always made her come with an intense and rushing pleasure. 

Her stiffened muscles quaked within her thighs—knees shaking above his head, fabric twisting in her firm and frantic grasp, forehead rumpling as the warmth and pulsing beat quickened to finally burst against his hands, his face, his tongue.

Cullen groaned, sending vibrations into her over-sensitive flesh, continuing his attentions until his mouth tasted of nothing but the warm and delightful flavor of her slick. 

“Mmm,” he said, swallowing and smacking his lips before flashing her a playful and knowing smile. “I believe that's twenty-six minutes to spare.”

The short and panting gasps leaving Artemis’ lips finally subsided, morphing into a saucy little purr. “Mmm, you're soooo good, Commander,” she said, pulling up to sit and running her nails through the dark curls of her paramour’s thighs. 

He bent forward to capture her mouth—cradling her face and smoothing the pads of his thumbs along her blushing cheeks. His once urgent tongue now lapped languidly against her own, a gentle caress of mostly sated hunger as it slipped between her lips to let her _taste_ just how much he had given her pleasure. 

But a chuckle floated between them and Artemis gasped as soon as he stepped from the bed to stand. 

“No, come back—it's your birthday!” said Artemis, her arms outstretched and fingers wiggling—hands desperately grabbing at his hardened chest.

“Who said we were finished?” said Cullen. He sent one hand gliding down his abdomen to grip at the swollen base of his cock—the other cutting through the dampened hair at the nape of his lover’s neck. He pulled gingerly, guiding her face toward his hard and aching length as he tugged it back and forth. 

Artemis licked her lips and caught his thick head against the inside hollow of her cheek—a look of deviousness sparking to life as she gazed up at the golden and delicious Commander ready to satisfy his other naughty desires. The look alone caused the muscle within him to spasm—that salacious expression and dirty image of the bulge of his cock prodding into the slick and silky flesh of her inner cheek— _Maker_ _did it do things to him_. And he twitched within her mouth—twitching once again as she enveloped him down the length of her throat.

Cullen’s hands sought throughout her hair—caressing her face as he pulled curls into a neat little bundle and away from the dribbling slick drenching his hot and throbbing cock. He let her work him up and down—tongue gliding and dragging and curling over the tip, swiping through the salty beads and flicking along his crown—twisting, sucking, _slurping_ with varying levels of speed and obscenity. 

Her tongue matched his previous attentions, showered him with the same adoration and longing to return his pleasure in equal measure—and the ever-present wonderment of how he had become so lucky crossed his mind for a fraction of a second before a hand tightened around his sac. 

Cullen let out a surprised gasp and instinctually yet gingerly gripped her around the ears, pressing his hips forward in chase of the buzzing pulse building within him—sending his cock down her throat until the tip of her nose grazed through his dark and dampened curls. He could feel her tongue laying flat, her throat opening up to him and enveloping him in her luxurious _heat_ , her fingers gently rolling his balls as they _tightened_ against his body—

Without warning, Cullen pulled himself from her and Artemis gasped for breath—the hungry and impatient look in her eyes glaring up at him.

“You were almost there, I could taste it,” she said, swiping her hand to dry her mouth.

Cullen growled in affirmation, pushing her back onto the bed and crawling atop her. “I’d rather come elsewhere.” 

Balancing his weight, he slithered his hand between them—readying his cock to split her body—and he thrust forward. There was no resistance other than accommodating to his size—for he slid in fully to the hilt on the slick from her mouth and the dripping _need_ from her hot and welcoming center.

Their mouths met with equal moans of pleasure, lips balancing upon lips with salty-sweet breaths intertwining to fill each other’s senses. And Artemis’ little gasps quickly turned to high pitched grunts as Cullen pumped the heavy drag of his cock in and out, in and out—filling her over and over and over, and he whimpered—trying to make his climbing high last as long as he dared. 

Strong and grasping hands found the bend of a knee, hiking it further while letting his head droop until his searching lips found a tight, rosy, marbled peak. His teeth sunk into the meat of her breast, tongue swirling throughout the taste of her succulent nipple, hips pumping erratically and grinding into the plump little bundle of nerves. 

Her body was exquisite. Her taste was sheer perfection. The scent of their sex intoxicating him while the staccato of her voice framing the disjointed syllables of his name sang music to his ears. And he was at her service—wanting nothing more than to experience this raw and desperate connectedness _for_ her, _with_ her, _to_ her for the rest of his days. 

“Oh, Arry—” he whispered, trailing his adoration and worship across her beading chest, up the column of her blushing throat, and onto her lips where he swallowed her cries and gasps and requests for _more_. “Oh, I love you—I love you—I love you.”

Artemis grasped her paramour around his shoulders, and Cullen’s hips stuttered into a more forceful and desperate pace, unable to hold back the orgasm fluttering within and aching to spill hot and intentional deep within his lover. His orgasm was forceful—eliciting a slew of obscenities and guttural moans—and Artemis purred into his ear one affirmation after another.

She cradled his face and he gazed down into her glassy, sparkling eyes. “I love you, too,” she said, nipping a small kiss onto his sweaty forehead.

But suddenly she gasped, eyes going wide and hands flying to the mattress in sheer terror. “My buns!” 

She scrambled to push him off and crawl out from beneath his weight—frantically seeking the ticklish areas just beneath his arms—to no avail. Cullen chuckled and clasped her wrists, palming both in one large hand and pinioning her fists above her head.

“They’ve still a bit more to bake, my love,” he said, nibbling into the crook of her neck—his lips migrating into the curl of her interested smile. “And we've got just enough time for round two.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title inspired by [Ache from FKA twigs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1_JtYpAdts)


End file.
